


death of a potluck

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Farmer Kurusu Akira, M/M, Work politics, how to effectively end work traditions: the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24127894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: For my friends J and M. Love y’all.ENJOY.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	death of a potluck

**Author's Note:**

> For my friends J and M. Love y’all.  
> ENJOY.

When the potluck notice gets pinned to the grocery store’s communal bulletin board, Goro freezes.

  
Earlier in the day, his boss Tanoya had made the rounds, giving all of the cashiers overly affectionate shoulder massages and chirping “Potluck!”

Some of Goro’s coworkers find Tanoya charming; an elderly woman who’s lived in their rural farming community for years, she adheres to the grocery store’s oldest traditions with the ironclad grip of an Amazonian warrior. Her fierce devotion shines on every employee throughout the harsh winter months during which she anticipates enjoying everyone’s cooking prowess.

Last year, one of Goro’s coworkers had declined contributing to the potluck, saying the last thing he wanted was to build up everyone’s expectations and that he only cooked for his family, albeit very rarely.

Tanoya, in her typical fashion, had patted him on the shoulder, reassuring him that she understood his nervousness around pleasing his work family (her words). 

The monotone edge of her voice coupled with the vacant sheen in her eyes had necessitated this employee’s resignation the following day by way of text messaging Goro. No one was immune to Tanoya’s devastating disappointment. 

Leaning his forehead against the bulletin board, sweat lacing the back of his apron, Goro swears into the palm of his right hand, smacking his knuckle against the potluck notice. He can buy chips and dip from a plastic container like he did last year and suffer through Tanoya asking him through a strained smile why he didn’t try bringing a home cooked dish, one of his favorites? Anyone could sample the artichoke dip on their break or at the end of their shift. Why not make his dish memorable?

“That’s it,” he says, punching the bulletin board.

He’s beyond caring as to whether his coworkers judge him for talking to himself. All of the high schoolers stocking the fresh produce talk to themselves. They’re probably talking about the tanned, smiling farmer who comes by every day at nine in the morning on the dot, work boots sparkling with snowfall, crates of new produce hauled up in his wiry arms. 

Sometimes Goro wants to go, “Hey, your crush? That’s my boyfriend.”

Then he remembers the potluck might provide him with that opportunity; after all, it won’t be him making the meal. They’ll all get a taste of the smoking hot farmer’s home cooking.

-

That’s what Goro thinks, at least, until Akira says, “Potlucks are disgusting.”

They’d been making out for the first time in three days, Goro’s backside moving halfway up against the right side of their refrigerator, Akira holding him up with his taut, sculpted arms. And then he’d up and grunted those words into Goro’s mouth. 

“Put me down,” Goro says. “Now.” 

Sighing, Akira slowly lowers Goro to the ground, brazenly admiring Goro’s thighs in his work chinos. Smiling tightly at the firm smack in the ass in return for his staring, he removes his black spectacles, eyes on Goro as he raises the left lens to his lips and blows.

He says, “We’re in agreement, then.”

“Regardless,” and here, Goro leans his head back, only to ram it into the overhead cabinet holding their accumulated coffee bags, “I am required to participate if I want to keep my job, which at this point I must if we want to get through the winter.”

He’s only slightly exaggerating; their combined paychecks are mostly covered by Goro’s recent promotion to manager. Even then, they can’t rely on Goro’s income forever. 

At the back of his mind, Goro fantasizes about Tanoya’s peaceful death surrounded by family and friends, after which he might inherit her legacy and with it the store. 

His head swivels: “What the  _ fuck. _ ” 

His mind has traversed darker currents; that doesn’t stop him from fearing where his thoughts might lead him should he opt out of this sacred tradition.

“Wait a minute,” Akira says, a slow, wicked smile illuminating his face in the warm glow of the kitchen’s lamplight. “I’ve got an idea.”


End file.
